To Shackle a Shrew (Southern Sanctuary Book 7)

by Jane Cousins

  Liam dropped her foot, reached over and dragging Devon up on to his lap so she was facing him. With a measured leer he reached over, snagging the low neck line of her top and pulling on it slightly, his gaze dipping down. “I think we should fool around.” He couldn’t believe he still wanted her, the woman practically had her foot out the door and all he could think of was the only way to convince her to stay was to kiss her senseless. “What do you say Princess, one last night?”

  Devon reached out to cup the side of his face, the rough golden stubble on his chin prickling her hand. She wanted to grip him, shake him. Tell him she… loved him. But giving him… anyone, that much power over her, scared her to her very marrow. But maybe he was providing her with a way to show him. She leaned forward pressing her lips onto his. “One last night.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Devon crept out of the bathroom, eyes darting to the bed and the shaft of sunlight that splayed across the rumpled sheets. Hmm, should she close the curtain? No, too much noise. She bent slightly to the left to double check Liam was still asleep. The angle was wrong, she chanced a small step forward, holding her breath, praying the floorboard wouldn’t creak. Whew, still asleep.

  The man made love like a demon but slept like an angel. A smile ghosted across her lips chased instantly away by a frown. She had no right to wax lyrical about the man any longer, they were done. Officially over. And she couldn’t claim that their last hurrah hadn’t been impressive. The man had been insatiable last night. There wasn’t an inch of her body he hadn’t explored, kissed or branded with his touch.

  Devon’s frown deepened. There had been something frantic about their lovemaking last night. It had been different from their previous nights’ spent together, fewer pauses between bouts and something else had been missing as well… laughter. There’d been no shared jokes or teasing. In fact, every time she’d opened her mouth to start a conversation, Liam had promptly kissed her, using his hands and lips to distract her.

  Quite clearly the man hadn’t wanted to talk last night. Hadn’t wanted her to broach the subject of the decision she was going to have to make today. He’d used sex to distract her! That sneaky underhanded Merrow. She was of a good mind to use his ass as a pin cushion again. Hmmm, but then he’d wake up and what if she looked into his eyes and saw the irrevocable truth, that he knew it was over too?

  Oh, what was she thinking, it was over, of course it was over. Decision day was here… yeah. For too long she’d just wanted this day over and done with, but now that it was time, she wanted to stop the clock, freeze this moment, just her and Liam. Sweet Yami, how ridiculous was she?

  Devon glanced over her shoulder, noting that one curl had her jacket and another one had her shoes. How low had she sunk? Here she was creeping around like a criminal in her own bedroom. A proud Makura Princess reduced to this sad mess of a woman, all because of a man. A man who was probably pretending to be asleep right at this moment so he wouldn’t have to act like a grown up and have a discussion.

  Yet, it wasn’t like she was any better than Liam. She’d allowed him to distract her last night. Relieved each time his mouth had swooped down upon hers, swallowing the words she’d been about to say. She could have bound him to the bed, forced him to listen. Told him she had feelings for him. She was as much a coward as Liam. Too scared that if she told him the truth he’d turn away from her for good.

  She wanted to preserve this memory of them together, lock it away, as it was both perfect and hateful at the same time. Full of possibilities of what might have been. But at the same time avoiding the pain of hearing out loud that he didn’t feel the same way about her.

  So it was a good thing he was pretending to be asleep, letting her creep out to meet Alma Richart. They’d said goodbye a thousand different ways last night. After all, actions spoke louder than words, right? And if that were true, then Liam wanted her body, no more than that, she was obviously alone in the feelings department. Opening the bedroom door quietly Devon took one last look back at him, sprawled across her bed like he owned the damn thing.

  With all her strength she slammed the door shut.

  * * *

  Taking tea with Alma in the High Council’s private library was slightly surreal for Devon. Surrounded on all sides by the old world walnut bookcases, their shelves crowded with obviously antique and rare volumes, with the overstuffed furniture and the large bouquet of spring flowers placed in the unused fireplace, it felt a little like she had stepped back in time.

  Alma, dressed in camel coloured trousers and a boat necked angora cream fitted sweater looked elegant and relaxed as she poured tea into two dainty china cups, offering one to Devon.

  “I would have preferred we sit on the veranda outside my office but I understand there is still a mastermind out there plotting to kill you.” Alma leaned back in her armchair. “So this will have to do. Help yourself to a cake if you’re hungry, dear girl.”

  “Umm.” Devon awkwardly sat back holding her cup of tea. “I’m good, thanks.” Now that she was here, facing Alma, all the rage, all the anger seemed to have drained from her. All she felt was weary to her very bones and strangely sad.

  Alma’s sparkling brown eyes missed nothing as her gaze travelled up from Devon’s deep red suede ankle boots, over her dark blue designer jeans to the low, scoop necked dark red sweater she was wearing. Her hair tumbling down over her shoulders, several curls restlessly moving back and forth over the fabric of the armchair.

  “So, let’s talk match making.”

  Devon’s eyes shot to the open door, conscious that her police escort, Tanner Bright, who’d driven her to the Council building hovered outside in the corridor.

  Alma smiled. “Don’t worry about Tanner, there’s a spell on this room, no eavesdropping allowed. So...” Alma absently pushed her grey hair back behind one ear. “Who are you going to choose?”

  Devon’s eyes narrowed. “I thought it was your job to tell me that.”

  Alma’s smile never wavered. “Suitor number four then.”

  “Why him?” Devon frowned, trying and failing to bring up a mental picture of number four.

  Alma placed her tea cup down on a side table and leant forward to scoop up a tiny lemon tart. “Four is my lucky number.”

  “Excuse me?” Devon put her cup down also, afraid she might spill the contents if she cracked the delicate china. “You’re guessing? Where’s the science? The application of complex algorithms to ensure compatibility?”

  Alma chuffed a laugh. “I’m not that sort of match maker. I go with my gut.”

  “And your gut is telling you that lucky suitor number four is my perfect match?” Devon watched as Alma consumed the lemon tart and dapped at her lips with a napkin.

  Alma shrugged. “One Merrow is pretty much the same as another. No matter who you choose, you are going to spend a decade surveilling their every move, wondering if they are scamming you or your friends and neighbours. Doling out money to keep them in line. Managing them daily, watching for cons, sleight of hand tricks, flim-flammery or the slightest hint that they are going to double cross you. I sincerely hope you sleep with one eye open, dear girl.” Alma smiled, picking up her tea cup, raising it in a toast in Devon’s direction.

  “That’s it? I came to you because I needed practical help in choosing the most suitable husband. I don’t want guesses, or lucky numbers. You’ve had decades of experience doing this job, and all you can come up with is… one Merrow is as good as the next?”

  “The only aspect of practicality that can be applied to matchmaking is picking the players, once that job is done the rest is up to the couple. But you tied my hands, Devon. You gave me fourteen candidates and stated categorically to me that the last thing you wanted from your future husband was love. So, I give you suitor number four… or eight, or ten, or one.” Alma smiled Devon’s way again and there was something about that look, there was no trace of smugness in that slight curve of her lips, instead, Devon could have sworn wha
t she saw in Alma’s face was pity.

  Devon should have gone nuclear. No one pitied a Makura. But all she felt was a seeping numbness. That hollowness had returned, the same despair that had filled her when she had thought Liam was dead and lost to her forever. As things stood she would only have the memory of last night to hold onto like a treasured token. How she’d shown him with every touch, every caress, every kiss, how much she loved him.

  But that memory would eventually turn to a millstone around her soul, she’d had plenty of opportunities to tell him that she loved him. Sweet Yami, she should have told him in the cave. When he’d come back from the dead. When he’d bitten her on the ass in the dark cavern because he knew she was frozen with fatigue and fear and that was the only way to motivate her. She should have told him last night. Not hidden behind the coy question of asking his thoughts on whom she should choose to fulfil the stupid marriage contract that loomed ever large in her life.

  “I don’t like feeling like this.” By the depths, she hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.

  Alma tilted her head to the side slightly. “No one does.”

  “Makura don’t do love.” No, that wasn’t right, Nabha and Adalard did and they’d been together over a hundred years. “I… don’t do love. Love is for the…” She was about to say weak, it’s what she’d been taught from the cradle.

  “Strong.” Alma interrupted her. “Love is for the brave, the reckless and the foolish. It isn’t practical, sensible or even easy.”

  “There’s no guarantee.” Devon shot back.

  “None. Not for a year, ten or even…” Alma looked down at her own wedding band, a sad wistful smile playing for a moment across her lips before disappearing. ‘Not even for seventy years.”

  Devon rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?”

  “Because those words are too trite.” Alma’s brown eyes sparkled with little glints of gold. “Love can be pain, the highs, the lows, the shouting, the laughing… the loss. But a life without love? That can be filled with just as much pain. The wishful what might have-beens. The taunting should-haves. The never ending ache of true loneliness without even happy memories to fill the void.”

  Devon rubbed her face. “I really don’t like having feelings.”

  Alma chuffed a laugh. “No one does dear girl, until you realise that you are not alone in having those feelings.”

  “What if…?” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “What if he doesn’t return those feelings?” Alma shrugged and picked up her tea cup, those gold glints in her eyes seeming to flash and spark. “I don’t have a magic crystal ball, but Devon… what if he does?”

  “But what if he doesn’t?” Devon couldn’t help but retort.

  Alma just smiled as she sipped her tea. “As I said, no guarantees I’m afraid.”

  “You know.” Devon’s eyes narrowed. “I could really grow to hate you.”

  Alma’s smile broadened. “You’re sounding more like family every day. You know that house you’re renting out on the river is for sale.”

  “We’re… I’m not going to live here.”

  “If you say so dear girl.”

  Devon’s eyes narrowed, Alma’s words were right but her tone hinted at clear doubt.

  “I’ve already had this exact same conversation with Nell, and I’m telling you the same thing I told her, I’m not staying in the Southern Sanctuary.”

  “So lovely that you and Nell have become so close.”

  “Pollyanna and I are not close.”

  “And you have cute little nicknames for one another. There’s nothing like having solid – stand by you through thick or thin - girlfriends at your back.”

  Devon’s shoulders stiffened. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “And yet I believe you have made several friends here; Nell, Gigi, Darcy hasn’t killed you, so that strongly suggests she tolerates you. And I hear Riya has designed practically a whole wardrobe with you in mind, and that girl can’t design for just anyone, her magic doesn’t work that way. Next you’ll be denying how much you enjoy working at our clinic and the hospital.”

  “Whiney patients and blubbering doctors.” Devon dismissed with a wave of her hand.

  “Maybe, but here you don’t usually have to sugar coat your mood to appease the mundane masses.”

  “Except for the nurses.” Devon mused.

  “Well, of course dear, that’s just being smart. You know, if you were to locate yourselves here, you and your young man, the Southern Sanctuary grid would recognise you as family, with all the added benefits that come with that.”

  Devon glared at Alma. “My sex life is fine thank you very much, with or without the magical boost from your grid.”

  Alma chuffed a laugh. “Well, yes, there are a multitude of benefits I suppose but I was actually referring to being able to access the translocation system. Think, in a blink you can be shopping in Paris, dining in New York or perhaps if one of you had a job as a globetrotting photographer that entailed a lot of travel…”

  “You really are deserving of the ‘Sherman tank’ moniker aren’t you?”

  Alma just smirked, but it was filled with humour rather than smugness.

  “This is a pointless discussion.” Devon pulled herself out of the depths of the overstuffed chair to get to her feet. “I haven’t made any final matrimonial decisions yet.”

  Alma shook her head. “That’s just nerves talking. Devon, I can’t make you take this chance. Nor can I insist you find your young man and say those words. Just know that keeping things as they are, refusing to change, to take a risk, yes it will keep your heart safe, but at what cost? You’ll become like a pool of stagnant water, choking and stalled, devoid of life.”

  Devon’s scowl lifted and she smiled ruefully. “How long have you been working on that analogy?”

  Alma’s brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “About twelve months now, ever since you requested an appointment with me.”

  Devon shook her head. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

  Alma shrugged. “I can bring you together, but only you can take the next step.”

  “With no guarantees?” Devon’s gut roiled with apprehension.

  “None what so ever.” Alma affirmed cheerfully.

  “And now I’m back wanting to hate you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You okay?”

  Devon turned to look at Tanner Bright in the driver’s seat. The man was born to fill out a police uniform, leanly muscular with close cropped brown curly hair, and miss nothing dark brown eyes.

  “I’ve just had a meeting with your Great-Aunt Alma, what do you think?”

  Tanner’s jaw tightened but he didn’t crack a smile. “It’s early but I could find you a bar if you need a stiff drink?”

  “No.” Devon’s nails tapped out a steady rhythm on her jean clad knees. She hadn’t really ever been nervous before and she didn’t wish to prolong the experience any longer than necessary. The sooner she got home and made her declaration to Liam, the sooner she’d know his answer, for good… or for bad.

  Rivers and Lakes, she kept coming back to the image of a pool of stagnant water. Isolated, decaying and incrementally dying. She didn’t want to be that person. Even if Liam’s answer was thanks, but no thanks, it would hurt, it might well tear her apart. But she will have tried, she will have fought. She would have no regrets.

  Her stomach rolled like the ocean as Tanner turned the car into her street, bringing the vehicle to a halt behind another police cruiser resting at the curb.

  It took all of Devon’s will power not to shred the seat belt with her nails. She was home and Liam was waiting for her inside. She was surprised at how eager she suddenly felt to see him. She’d always preferred meeting a challenge straight on, and the thought of telling Liam that she loved him, felt kind of freeing in a way. Unsnapping the belt she glanced over at Tanne
r. “Thanks, for the ride.”

  Tanner tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. “I’m headed out but…” His eyes flicked to the other police cruiser. “Mac will be on duty until after lunch, then Zeke will take over.”

  “Great.” Devon’s hand scrabbled for the door handle.

  “We still have enforcers patrolling the water, so stay out of the river.”

  “Sure, sure.” Devon, finally managed to open the door. She didn’t bother to look back as Tanner started the engine and pulled away, all her focus was on the house.

  She had it all planned out, she’d start off slow, ease into the announcement. Lay out her argument for Liam, explaining how good they were for one another, how they balanced each other out, countered each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Then, at the right moment, she’d look deeply into his eyes and say the words out loud. Fingers crossed, all going to plan, he’d say the words right back.

  But if he didn’t…?

  Well, if he didn’t, she’d convince him. She’d spend time with him. Be sweet. Be nice. Let him get used to the idea gradually. She would be patient with him, understanding of his need to take the time to be really sure about them as a couple.

  Rivers and Lakes, who was she kidding? If he didn’t return her feelings she’d bind him in a cocoon of her hair and browbeat him until he said the damn words back to her. And she hoped for his sake he meant them, or there would be hell to pay.

  Her long legs ate up the ground as she strode forward, but still it wasn’t fast enough. She sped up, slamming open the front door at practically a run. “Liam?” His name echoed through the house.

  “In here.”

  Devon skidded into the living room, her suede ankle boots really weren’t made for running. She couldn’t seem to wipe the wide smile off her face, her eyes darting around the room until they found Liam’s stunning aquamarine orbs. Their gazes met and all she could see right then was him. His tousled bed hair, the golden stubble clinging to his strong jaw and the faded grey cargo pants and ratty black t-shirt which made him look at once disreputable and ten kinds of sexy.